Quotes about canvass, page 6
Reuniting The Rehash
the pieces do not remain as pieces
in a certain longing they come back and
find a way to compose themselves again
like a quilt
an abstract painting of green leaves looking like
some cuttings from a woman's old dress
and black twigs protruding from a canvass like
some needles and pins
reuniting into a unified creature in space
a porcupine fish perhaps
or a brown cone from a pine tree
images of the past summer
streaks of light at twilight after two shadows
finally say
'it is over'. They had enough.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Frozen Waves Of The Sea On Canvass
as i look at the frozen waves of the sea
on canvass by a clever painter
there is always that feeling of anticipating
the falling of things, and thoughts
one, the watcher
or the spectator, though stalled
and cramped for the eventuality of
things that come
somehow feels that things like these
though happen
an icy mind, solid and sharp
piercing more
the bleeding heart
that waiting which you know
shall never come
someone that says tomorrow i shall be with you
and yet by this distance
there is nothing that binds
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Yes You May Paint My World
be ready
paint my world
be patient
it is not as white
as a canvass
to start with
i am spotted
like gerard manley hopkins
with his cow
and this trout
i have some
red marks on
my heart and
some stains
in my brains
i am dark
and you will need
[...] Read more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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No One Is There (revised)
i go home
and i open the door of this house
there is silence that greets the face of emptiness
the grass is but a green canvass
sprinkled with dead leaves
shades of brown and shattered sheen of lights
from the setting sun
a burst of orange, a slap of red,
gray colors hover,
black invades and triumphs
tonight, another round of applause
from lonely hands
my feet stamp the dusts
off my skin
the dog wags its tail
i close the door and shut the windows
i turn on the light
dimmer
i begin listening again to
the departing winds.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Working On Some Symbolism
lately i have been working on certain
symbolism of his poetry
and some paintings: an old man without a foot,
a nude woman inside his open stomach,
stuff pegions fishing for a parachute
or an air balloon and a fish in air
a red jacket without a body
a man with the head of a big chinese fan
a secret exit where a hand feeds
a hidden snake.Max Ernst your painting pains me.
I am lost but soon in your symbols
i shall find the entrance
of understanding the world within the four corners
of your brightly colored canvass.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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magical Bond' Of Words'
in the absence of
'time place and action'
crushed as we are under
'time's juggernaut'
the heart flies like a
'disjointed kite'
the parched soul looks around
for 'a few drops of dew'
standing 'at the level crossing'
measuring 'clouds and colors'
'agony' hits like a blank 'canvass'
nothing is found 'between
the covers' either!
in the 'solitude of silence'
i simply listen to the silence within
gathering the 'anatomy of dead cells'
of the 'entombed silence'
[...] Read more
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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A Definition Of Life....
it is the feeling
of a desert that we
feel sometimes
deep in our
hearts on
some nights
following
completely dark
the stars are not
there
you miss the howl
of the jackal
or the strong sounds
of the sandstorm
you hate this
void
[...] Read more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Kiss On The Hand
Ribald timeless silver blade
Azure handle of pearl
I am the marble
The green jade
Formed into sacred temples
Temples of golden lamps
Love makes kings kneel
Silk caravans
Sleep on islands of lava
Blue earth on fire
Jupiter a navel jewel
The soft candle of night
Her hair cascades like dreams
Palm trees sway in moonlight
Caressed like a Monet canvass
Dross burned in the heart of beauty
Vermeer paints the blue earring
Purity the ideal of saints
[...] Read more
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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After Seeing Your Act
Your madness seems to delight,
In dancing upon a blank canvass!
You appear to be stalking
For a stroke of genius to appear.
To capture sustained youthful movements!
What would you do If I told you...
I am just a bystander passing through,
And not an artist at all?
In fact,
After seeing your act...
I wouldn't let you come near to touch,
Or juggle 'my' balls!
They were squeezed in that last circus I lived!
Your performance I wouldn't think of paying for.
It lacks depth of character.
And a willingness to give it up for free!
I can hardly feed myself!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Vision Of Doom...
you look at the world
while riding a taxi
above the bridge that connects
two cities
a canvass of blue sea
white clouds drifting
seagulls crossing the horizon
blue ships floating
tiny houses along the boulevard
cars moving like ants
upon a line of path
you are amazed by so much beauty
man-made though
slowly the compassion arises
from the stares of your eyes
for soon
[...] Read more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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